


Swan Song

by PurpleSilence



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Gen, Rebellion, War, Wizarding Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleSilence/pseuds/PurpleSilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a single decision, made many years ago. It would hardly seem important in the grand scheme of things, but small things have the tendency to snowball into something big. The slightest flutter of a butterfly's wings can cause a hurricane. At the age of eleven, Harry Potter enters a wizarding world that seems so familiar, but is so different all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Professor McGonagall

_There is an ancient believe that a swan release the most beautiful song moments before its death, after living its life in silence. Throughout its life, a swan is quiet and graceful. But upon staring Death in the face, a swan does not stay silent. In their last moments they give a final gesture, a performance more beautiful than any before._

* * *

She came knocking on the door a day after the letter came. She had a strict expression and her hair was tied in the same neat bun she always wears. This is the way I will always remember her.

I was almost eleven. Still so young and bitterly naïve, but I was starting to lose my optimism that somehow survived for so long.

I could see the way the story was going to end. I was losing the hope that someone would come and whisk me away from the Dursleys.

My dream that someone would take me away from their hatred was becoming less realistic with every passing day.

I was almost eleven, and I told myself that I was too old to cling to my fantasies that someone will come to save me.

But then she came.

Aunt Petunia was tense and on edge, jumping at the slightest noise and constantly looking over her shoulder. She had been that way ever since she saw that letter. I didn't understand why she would react that way to a simple letter.

She immediately tried to slam the door in the strange woman's face when she saw who it was. I wondered how aunt Petunia knew this woman. She was not the type of person that aunt Petunia associated with. She was clearly _not normal._ Aunt Petunia usually stayed clear of people like this woman.

"You!" she hissed at the stranger. The older woman peered over her glasses with a disapproving look on her face. I stifled a giggle and decided that I liked her. Anyone who looked at Aunt Petunia with an expression like that must be a wonderful person.

"Yes, Mrs Dursley, it is me. I am here to see Mr. Potter."

I almost jumped in shock at the sound of my name. Who would want to see me? I came out of my hiding place from where I had been eavesdropping on the conversation. "You are looking for me?" I asked, surprised.

She inspected me with her eagle sharp eyes. She pursed her lips at the sight of my oversized T-shirt that had obviously seen better days. My cheeks burned in shame at her judging gaze. I wanted to sink into the floor. People always took one look at me, and decided that I was a messy, troubled child who had no respect for myself or others.

"Such a difficult, disturbed child," Aunt Petunia would say to anyone who would listen. "Just like his parents. They were drunks. Vernon and I took him in out of the goodness of our hearts, but he still turned out just like them." Then Aunt Petunia would look teary eyed, and whoever was listening would quickly reassure her that it was not her fault that I turned out as I did.

The woman introduced herself to me as Professor McGonagall, Transfigurations professor at Hogwarts. I was very confused. How did this woman know my name? What was Hogwarts, and what type of subject is called Transfiguration?

The professor must have noticed my confusion, for she turned her glare to my aunt.  
"I assume you have told him nothing then."

"Nothing of what?" I interrupted.

She turned back to me, and for a moment I could swear I saw her gaze soften.

The conversation that followed was certainly not one I ever expected to happen. A wizard. I could do magic. That explained some of the things that happened to me.

Professor McGonagall explained to me that my parents didn't die in a car crash, but was murdered. I was in the room when my mother died and the backlash of the curse the evil wizard used to kill her left a scar on my forehead.

For a long time afterwards, I considered that the happiest day of my life. I wasn't a freak, like Aunt Petunia always said. I was a wizard. There were other people like me out there.

Maybe that is why I ignored the warning signs staring me in the face since day one. Maybe that is why it took me so long to realise that something serious was wrong.

Professor McGonagall took me to Diagon Alley after that. Back then, I thought Diagon Alley had to be the most magical place in the world.

Professor McGonagall was in a hurry. She dragged me along through the busy street, not allowing me to explore like I would have liked to. She had a troubled expression on her face, and I decided not to bother her too much by demanding she slow down.

We went to Gringotts first. The goblins were nasty, to say the least. Their hatred of wizards was obvious, and it was clear to see that they only tolerated humans for the sake of their business.

For a moment I wondered whether they had a reason for having a grudge against mankind, or if they were just naturally hateful creatures.

The exhilarating ride to my vault made all such thoughts disappear. I should have stopped and thought about it harder, but I was only eleven back then, and a rollercoaster ride was much more exciting than contemplating the goblins' hatred.

We went to the apothecary to buy potions ingredients. I wandered through the shelves of odd ingredients while Professor McGonagall bought a standard potions kit. She had explained the idea of potions to me, and it sounded like fun. I made a decision that I would learn all I can about potions. To be honest, it was mostly the idea of slipping a potion into Dudley's food that made me decide that.

Professor McGonagall left me to be fitted at the robe shop while she bought my books. Before she left she paid Madam Malkin for some casual robes as well as my Hogwarts uniform. There was another boy being measured.

"Hello, Hogwarts too?" he asked. He didn't introduce himself. Draco Malfoy, as I later learned his name was, was the world's brattiest eleven year old. I didn't particularly like him. He was rude and obnoxious.

But he was the only wizard my age I had met, so I tried to be friendly to him. I had never had friends before, so even the bratty blond could be a better friend than none.

"What house do you think you will be in? I will be in Slytherin for sure. My family have always been in Slytherin," he boasted. "Just imagine being sorted into Hufflepuff. I would be so embarrassed that I would leave Hogwarts."

I had no idea what Slytherin or Hufflepuff were, but not wanting to sound ignorant, I did not tell him that.

He rambled on about a broomstick and something called Quidditch. I decided that the boy loved the sound of his own voice. I didn't mind, because it meant that I didn't have to say anything that could possibly put me in an embarrassing situation.

Luckily Madam Malkin finished before the conversation turned anymore awkward than it already was and I quickly said goodbye to the pale boy. Professor McGonagall returned just as I left the robe shop. She carried a large package of school books.

After I got my robes, the only thing left on my list of school supplies was a wand. I was very excited about the prospect of buying a wand. I felt that a wand would make me a real wizard.

Mr Ollivander was a strange man. I decided by then that most wizards were odd people. No wonder Aunt Petunia hated them all. They certainly didn't fit into her "normal" world.

"Professor McGonagall!" the man exclaimed, "Fir, dragon heartstring, 9 ½ inches. Great for transfigurations." He then turned to me. "Harry Potter. You must be here for your first wand."

"Yes sir. Excuse me, but how do you know my name?" I asked. Why would the wand maker know who I am?

He shared a look with Professor McGonagall.

"I remember every face that ever entered my shop. You look just like your father when he was your age. Mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable."

He walked up to me and bent down a bit so that he was face to face with me. I took a step back.

"Your mother had a willow wand. Ten and three-quarter inch long, swishy. Nice for charm work. You have her eyes." He stared at me for a while longer, before he abruptly swirled around and disappeared behind a shelf.

We stood in silence for a few seconds. Then he appeared again and shoved a wand into my hand. "Well, go on! Give it a wave," he said when I just stared.

He actually became excited when I proceeded to destroy his shop with every wand I tried. It took many tries before he handed me the holly and phoenix feather wand that would become mine.

When the colourful sparks filled his shop, Mr Ollivander once again gave Professor McGonagall a look I didn't understand.

"Curious, very curious." He muttered to himself.

"What is curious?" I asked, but he ignored me.

He only stared at me with that odd expression he had earlier. For a moment I swore I saw him staring at the scar on my forehead that I got when my parents died, but I quickly dismissed the thought.

I couldn't think of any reason Mr Ollivander would be interested in a scar I got as a baby, so I decided I must have imagined it.

Returning to the Dursleys after seeing Diagon Alley was like being wakened from a wonderful dream by someone dumping freezing water on your face.

Professor McGonagall walked with me inside and instructed the Dursleys to take me to King's Cross Station on the first of September, before disappearing into thin air. Aunt Petunia paled even further. She quickly ran to the window, scanning the street for a nosy neighbour that could have seen it. In contrast to her ghostly pale face, Uncle Vernon, who had been informed of what happened while he was at work, was turning into an impossible shade of purple. A vein in his face looked ready to burst.

"You listen to me Boy! I don't want to see any of your freakish stuff happening under my roof," he spat. It looked as though only the fear of magic kept him from physically attacking me.

I stared back at him while uncontrollable anger rose in me. This was the best day of my life. How dare he try to ruin this for me?

For years they lied to me. My parents weren't drunks. They were wizards. I am a wizard, not a freak.

I pointed my wand at him. I couldn't do anything with it yet, and Professor McGonagall said it was forbidden to do magic at home, but Uncle Vernon didn't have to know that.

For the first time in my life I felt as though I had some control over my own life. I liked the feeling. I would not let anyone take that away from me.

I stormed to my new room. I later regretted antagonising Uncle Vernon even more, but at that moment I felt unstoppable.

I was a wizard, not a freak. There was a whole community of people like me out there. I was not alone. Not anymore.

I spent hours revelling in that thought. The suffocating loneliness, the pain that resonated in my very being, was lifted. I was not alone. Never again, I told myself.

I fell down on my bed - _a real bed, I never had a real bed before_ \- simply laughing, like I had never laughed before. It was a relieved and quite hysterical laugh, and I laughed until my sides hurt.

I spent so many nights, locked in my cupboard, dreaming about someone, _**anyone**_ , to come and free me, to take me away from this place. And then I was freed. Professor McGonagall came to free me from the Dursleys and take me to a magical place.

No matter how many years passed, and how disillusioned I became of the wizarding world, Professor McGonagall will always remain my saviour, not just because she showed me magic, but because she gave me hope.


	2. Ron Weasley

Despite my fears that the Dursleys would refuse to take me to the train station, Uncle Vernon drove me to King's Cross on the first of September. The car ride was awkward. A tense silence hung in the air.

It had been this way for a month. Ever since I pointed my wand at my uncle, the Dursleys had been pointedly ignoring me.

He still didn't say anything when we reached the station. I struggled to lift my trunk out of his car on my own. My uncle didn't lift a finger to help. He drove off the second I shut the door. I was left standing there alone.

I took a few deep breaths and tried to remember what Professor McGonagall had said. I wished I had paid more attention to her words. I knew had to get to a hidden magical platform. I dug out the train ticket she gave me.

Platform 9 3/4

I dragged my trunk to platform 9. Platform 9 3/4 had to be somewhere between 9 and 10. I wished that I could ask someone, but Professor McGonagall said that the normal people - Muggles, she called them - didn't know about it.

I sat on my trunk watching the people around me. As the time passed, horrible thoughts went through my mind. I was going to miss the train. I would have to go back to the Dursleys. I was never going to be a wizard.

It was then that I saw a family of redheads approach. I probably wouldn't have given them a second thought if it wasn't for the owl the oldest boy was carrying. I sat up straight.

"Come on, we are going to be late. This is Ronnie's first year. He cannot miss the train," the mother said.

Ignoring her brother's grumble of "Don't call me Ronnie!" the little girl tugged on her mother's shirt. "Mum, why can't I go?"

The mother sighed, "Ginny, we talked about this. Hogwarts don't accept children under eleven. You will go next year."

"I know, but I am further in my studies than Ron and he gets to go," the girl said, "Why do they only accept 11-year-olds? It's not fair. They should accept children according to intelligence, not age."

"That is how it has always been, Dear. It is not our place to question it," the woman replied. "And don't insult your brother's intelligence. He has the potential to be great. He just need to stop being so lazy," she rebuked. "Now come on, the train will leave soon."

I stood up and walked towards them. They were obviously wizards too, and I could follow them onto the platform.

"Excuse me Ma'am," I started, "Could you please show me how to, uhm..."

I gestured helplessly, not knowing what to say.

"How to get onto the platform?" She supplied with a friendly smile. "Don't worry; it is Ronnie's first year too."

"Mum!" the boy whined, but no-one paid him any attention.

"Just run straight at the wall between platforms 9 and 10. Fred here will show you." She patted one of her twin sons on his back.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George!" The boy exclaimed.

"Sorry George," she said, but I saw her roll her eyes when her son turned away.

Just before he reached the barrier he turned around. "I'm just kidding, I am Fred," he yelled before disappearing through the wall. His brother followed soon after. When both of them were gone, their mother smiled at me, "They always try to fool me. Silly boys, I'm their mother. Of course I can tell them apart."

I took a deep breath before running towards the barrier.

The platform was crowded with little children running around, students dragging their trunks around and teary-eyed parents saying goodbye to their children.

The twins helped me get my trunk into the train, and I settled down in an empty compartment.

Through the window I could see the red-haired family say goodbye to their mother and sister. The woman pressed her youngest son in a tight hug.

I wondered for a moment what things would have been like if my parents survived. Would my mother also hug me like that? Would she have cried when the train departed?

I pushed the thoughts down.

The youngest red-haired boy entered the compartment.

"Would you mind if I sit here?" he asked.

I shook my head and motioned for him to sit.

"I'm Ron. Ron Weasley," he introduced himself.

"Harry Potter," I replied.

Ron was a friendly boy and I liked him. He told me about all of his siblings. His two oldest brothers had already graduated Hogwarts a few years ago. I tried to imagine what it must be like to have so many older brothers. I only had Dudley, and he was neither my brother, nor was he much older than me.

He told me that all five his brothers had been in Gryffindor. When I asked what Gryffindor was, he looked shocked. "It is one of the four Hogwarts houses. Haven't your parents told you that?"

"My parents are dead. I grew up with my muggle aunt and uncle."

He looked bewildered and guilty. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry, it happened a long time ago," I tried to reassure him, "Tell me about the houses. I don't know much about the wizarding world."

He was relieved at the change of subject. "There are four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. You get sorted according to your personality. Gryffindors are brave, Slytherins are ambitious, Ravenclaws are smart and Hufflepuffs are loyal. My family have always been in Gryffindor. I want to go to Gryffindor, but I wouldn't really mind if I'm sorted into another house. The other houses are cool too. Except for Hufflepuff. They all seem like a bunch of duffers to me."

I felt sorry for the Hufflepuffs. The blond boy in the robe shop didn't seem to think much of them either.

I wondered where I would end up. I didn't feel particularly brave. I wasn't very smart either. I never had anyone I felt loyal to. I guessed that left Slytherin, but I didn't really feel very ambitious either.

I suddenly felt scared. What if I didn't fit into any of the houses and they decide that I couldn't come to Hogwarts after all.

Ron noticed my fear. "Don't worry mate. I'm sure you will find a house where you belong."

He then realised that, since I grew up with muggles, I probably didn't know much about quidditch either. He immediately started rambling about broomsticks and the Chudley Cannons. I only listened with half an ear. I decided that Ron and the blond boy from the robe shop had a lot in common.

He was interrupted when a boy came knocking on the door of our compartment asking if we had seen his toad. He was a chubby, blond boy and he appeared to be on the verge of crying.

"A toad. Who still brings toads to Hogwarts?" he asked after the other boy left, "Well, I can't really judge. I have a pet rat."

He pulled a dark brown rat out of his pocket.

"My parents gave him to me last year. He's useless really. I would rather have an owl," he sighed while he poked the thing in its stomach.

The rat squirmed in Ron's hands, desperately trying to escape the abuse the boy was inflicting on it. Ron loosened his grip and the rat scurried away from him.

"Percy's got an owl. Mum and Dad gave it to him when he became a prefect." He sounded a bit jealous.

I didn't tell him that, but I was very glad his parents bought Percy an owl; otherwise I might have still been stuck outside the platform.

An elderly lady pushing a food trolley stopped at our door. "Anything from the trolley?" she asked. Ron immediately looked embarrassed.

"Not for me, my mother packed me lunch." He pulled out a sandwich. "Corned beef. She knows I hate it," he muttered to himself.

I suddenly understood Ron's behaviour. It couldn't be cheap to raise seven children and Ron had mentioned that his mother didn't work.

It was a situation I had been in much too often. When I was younger, I was too embarrassed to eat my lunch in front of the other children at school, since Aunt Petunia didn't pack me the same lunch as she did for Dudley. It was food, and I had known better than to waste it, but I always ate it when I was alone, hiding in a toilet stall from Dudley's gang or on my way home.

For the first time in my life I had a friend, and I didn't want him to feel the same embarrassment I felt. I dug out a few gold coins and bought more sweets than the two of us could possibly eat.

We shared the corned beef sandwiches, before he taught me how to eat chocolate frogs.

"Hey, do you want to see some magic?" he asked when we were both sick of all the candy. He reached down and grabbed the rat from where it was hiding under my seat. "The twins taught me this spell."

Five minutes, and a disastrous attempt to turn his rat yellow, later, I concluded that the twins were not to be trusted and that Ron was much too gullible for someone who had known the twins for his entire life.

By the time the sun was crawling low on the horizon, we had already changed into our school robes.

Ron was fidgeting in an attempt to contain his excitement. "We will be there soon. We've been riding for hours!"

We arrived at the Hogsmeade Station twenty minutes later.

"First years. First years over here!" a voice called.

The voice belonged to the largest person I had ever seen. Before I saw Hagrid for the first time, Uncle Vernon was the largest person I had seen. But Uncle Vernon was just fat. Hagrid was gigantic. He could not possibly human.

He had a long black beard, wild and tangled. He looked very frightening.

We all followed him obediently to the boats waiting for us. Ron and I shared a boat with a dark haired boy that didn't look very pleased with our method of transport. He gulped nervously as we started to move and tightened his grip on the sides of the boat.

His fear for the deep water disappeared, along with the wandering thoughts of everyone else, when Hogwarts came into view. It was magnificent. There is no way to describe my awe of the castle when I saw it for the first time.

We got out of the boats and followed Hagrid to the large front door of the castle. There he delivered us to Professor McGonagall. She took us to the Great Hall to be sorted.

When we walked into the Great Hall it looked like we stepped outside. Instead of a ceiling we could see a night sky filled with stars. Dark clouds floated by and the pale moonlight shimmered against the floor.

I suddenly realised I was gaping at the air when Ron elbowed me.

"It's not real. It's just an illusion."

There were six tables in the Great Hall. Five tables filled with students stood in a row, and the teachers sat at a table in front, looking towards the students.

Professor McGonagall walked to the front of the hall where she placed a ratty old hat on a stool.

Then the tear in front of the hat opened like a mouth and the hat began to sing.

It explained the four houses better than Ron did on the train. Hufflepuff certainly didn't sound like a just a bunch of duffers to me.

"Hannah Abbot!" Professor McGonagall called. She placed the hat on top of the girl's head. After a few seconds, the hat called out: "Hufflepuff!"

The girl ran to the yellow and black table where she was given a warm welcome by her new housemates.

It continued this way, with students being divided among four of the tables.

"Harry Potter," she called, and I made my way to the front. The hat slipped over my eyes. That was when I heard a voice.

"Hmm, interesting. Very interesting."

I stiffened on the chair. The voice was in my head.

"In what house should I place you?" the hat murmured. "Not Ravenclaw for certain."

I wondered if that was meant as an insult. I wasn't stupid.

"I never said you were stupid. I have been sorting students for over a thousand years. Believe me when I say your mind isn't that of a Ravenclaw. You aren't an artist or a philosopher. You don't spend time pondering abstract ideas. You are much too practical," the hat replied.

"Not much of a Hufflepuff either. Oh, I'm sure that you will develop great Hufflepuff qualities later in your life, but for now that wouldn't do."

I was glad he didn't consider Hufflepuff. Everybody seemed to think Hufflepuff was a stupid house. I had a chance to fit in and make friends. I didn't want to be rejected by most of the school for possessing "great Hufflepuff qualities".

"That leaves Slytherin and Gryffindor. You are brave and you have a strong moral compass. You could do well in Gryffindor, but I should warn you, you will soon realize that everything is not as simple as it seems. The world is not just black and white. On the other hand, you would be well suited for Slytherin as well. You have ambition. Slytherin will help you follow your dreams. Slytherin will help you grow."

From under the hat, my eyes darted between the red and the green table. Ron hasn't been sorted yet, but he said he wanted to go to Gryffindor. At the green and silver table, the blond boy from the robe shop sat between another first year and an older student.

I didn't know where I wanted to go. I didn't feel particularly brave. The Gryffindors would probably think I am a coward.

"Hmm..." the hat murmured again. "You could be great you know. Slytherin will help you. You will fit in there."

I felt the hat move on my head, and the next moment its voice rang through the hall.

"Slytherin!"

The students at the green and silver table clapped politely. I walked up to the table and a girl made space for me to sit down. I took a look at my new housemates. The blond boy leaned forward and extended his hand, "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

I shook his hand. The boy next to him was Theodore Nott. He looked quiet and withdrawn. There were four first year girls. Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bullstrode, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis.

"Ronald Weasley," Professor McGonagall called.

Ron was sorted into Gryffindor. I looked at him at the Gryffindor table. He just shrugged at me and smiled.

I gave him a large grin. He was my first friend and I refused to lose because of something as silly as the houses we were sorted in.

He will always remain one of my best friends.


	3. Theodore Nott

The Slytherin prefects led us to the common room after the feast.

It was situated in the dungeons and the only natural light that could reach the common room was the faint green glow that came from the Black Lake. We all stared open mouthed at the magnificent decor. Even Draco looked impressed.

There was a fire permanently burning in the common room, and built in heating charms in all the rooms, to prevent us from freezing from the harsh cold of the dungeons, even in the summers.

We were six boys in the dormitory. It felt odd to be sharing a room with so many people, after sleeping cramped up in a small cupboard for ten years. I couldn't sleep that night.

After rolling around on the bed for some time I sat up straight in my bed.

Draco was sleeping peacefully on the bed next to mine. He gave a soft snore. His hair was tousled and his mouth hanged open slightly. I resisted an urge to giggle at the sight.

Sharing a dorm with Draco showed me another side of him that I would have never seen had I been sorted into another house.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were both heavy snorers, I couldn't understand how the others managed to fall asleep.

Blaise was curled up on his bed facing the wall. I assumed he was asleep as well.

I then noticed Theodore Nott, on the bed on my other side, was lying with his eyes open.

I turned to face him. He noticed me staring at him and sat up as well.

"Can't sleep?" I asked.

"None of your business Potter!" he sneered at me and rubbed at his face.

It was only then that I saw the tear marks staining his cheeks.

After staring at him for a few minutes, I got out of my bed and sat down on his.

"Go away Potter," he whispered half-heartedly.

I didn't know what to do. I never had to comfort someone who was crying before (and I never had someone to comfort me when I was sad).

I then got an idea. There were still a few handfuls of candy left that Ron and I didn't eat on the train. I went to get in and threw it down in a pile on his bed, before sitting back down and taking a chocolate frog for myself. When he didn't take something for himself, I pushed another chocolate frog towards him.

I was almost finished with mine before he hesitantly reached to take it.

He expertly caught the frog with one hand before it could jump away and bit of its head.

We quietly sat and watched each other. Just then Draco loudly mumbled something about flying snakes in his sleep. We shared a look before we both burst out in laughter. Theodore tried to smother the sound into his pillow, and I pressed my face into his blankets.

On the pile of sweets was a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. I scooted closer to him and held out the box to him. He took a red bean, and it must have been a good flavour judging by his expression.

I took a cinnamon flavoured bean, and he took a yellow one. It continued this way for a while with neither of us picking a bad flavoured bean, until Theodore pulled a face.

"Soap," he whispered disgustedly.

I tried to contain my laughter at his hilarious expression, but he wasn't fooled and gave me a glare.

I offered him a cauldron cake as an apology. He grabbed it and stuffed it in his mouth in an attempt to get rid of the taste of soap. I took one for myself as well.

The pile became smaller and smaller. We sat quietly on his bed for a long time, even after all the sweets were gone. It was only when my eyes became droopy that I got back into my own bed.

We didn't talk much that first night, but sometimes words aren't necessary.

We both pretended it didn't happen the next morning. He was obviously embarrassed to have been caught crying, and I felt no need to embarrass him further.

Later, it became a sort of tradition between the two of us. Whenever something was wrong, or either of us couldn't sleep, we would sit in silence in the dark and stuff ourselves with candy.

I made sure to always keep an emergency stash of sweets in my trunk.

Looking back now, I am very glad that I couldn't sleep that night.

I never asked him why he was crying, but knowing what I do now, I can guess why.

Theodore Nott had a hard life, something I didn't understand back then. His father was a cruel man, with no love in his bitter heart. Theodore was a soft boy, with an appreciation for the little things in life. He found joy in everyday things, like listening to the chirping of birds and watching ants scuttle by.

He could sit for hours under the tree by the lake, with his eyes closed, simply enjoying the feeling of the wind on his face.

Theodore Nott was an odd boy, and his father had no time or patience for people like him.

His mother died when he was four. He had witnessed it. They claimed was an accident, but no-one really knows what had happened that day. Theodore was always very tight-lipped about it, refusing to speak about it. But even if it was an accident, I know that Theodore never forgave his father for whatever happened there.

Over the years, we built our friendship on quiet hours in the library, long talks next to the lake, and the times we simply sat together in the dark. But the foundation of that friendship was built that first night at Hogwarts when we both couldn't sleep and I offered him a chocolate frog.


End file.
